


Love Like Fire

by Kat_Rowe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode s04e02, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Polis, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 18:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Rowe/pseuds/Kat_Rowe
Summary: Polis first time smut. Abby examines Marcus's wrists and things progress from there. Shippy, fluffy, and rather introspective.





	Love Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marcusgriffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcusgriffin/gifts).



> I know that everybody and their cousin has probably written some variant of this scene, but here's my take. 
> 
> Happy (very) belated birthday, marcusgriffin, and thank you as always for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Abby was always so gentle in her examinations. He'd noticed that about her years ago, but never let himself consider it too deeply, or think about how it might apply in other contexts. Kane was certainly doing his best not to think about it now, as her fingertips pushed aside his bandages and brushed lightly over wrists rendered oversensitive by the recent physical trauma. He'd always had tender skin, far too responsive to the touch of other people. As a young man, it had been maddening at times. He'd gotten good at ignoring it in recent years, but it was so difficult with Abby, especially lately.

 _You were just crucified, Kane, and your_ **_doctor_ ** _is trying to help you! Get it together!_ he told himself firmly as Abby tested his skin for warmth and... whatever else. There was something not right about a doctor having the kind of hands that would have felt more at place on a lover than on a physician. She was only trying to help, he reminded himself, no matter how it felt. One kiss on the cheek notwithstanding, she'd never shown more than a strong platonic affection for him. Yes, she hadn't kneed him anywhere delicate when he'd surprised her with that unacceptably passionate kiss right before his flight from Arkadia, but she must have believed they'd never seen each other again. He couldn't just assume her response had meant anything beyond her not wanting to hurt his feelings, or perhaps just honest regret that they might not meet again. That didn't automatically translate into anything deeper.

He cherished her friendship and refused to do anything to compromise her regard for him. Without some kind of proof, he had to be patient and watchful; he couldn't take the initiative without actual encouragement from her.

“Here, take my hands,” she directed, tugging his bandages back into place and then extending them to him.

It was nearly nightfall and, with only a few candles lit, her bedroom was growing dark. There could almost have been something romantic in holding hands with her by candlelight, but he refused to let his mind go down that route. He'd been alone for too long, was too vulnerable, too likely to fall prey to wistful thinking. He needed Abby far too much, and on too many levels, to risk alienating her by pressing for more than she was willing to give. She'd already given him so much already, after all, more than he'd ever deserved. He'd never expected her friendship, but he'd quickly come to cherish it.

Wrapping his fingers around hers, he waited for several seconds, just enjoying the feel of her warm skin under his fingertips until she ordered him to squeeze so she could gauge his strength. He knew the routine by now. Squeeze her fingers, push against her palms with his in several directions, take her hands and pull them towards him, hold a small weight in his extended hands, grasp some tiny object in his fingertips. Over and over, several times a day, until he could have gone through the motions in his sleep.

He still had a way to go before he regained full strength and range of motion, but Abby assured him that there had, miraculously, been no lasting damage from the nails in his wrists. ALIE must have told them exactly how to position the spikes to avoid permanently crippling him. His fingers remained a little clumsy, but the only really difficult part of the twice-daily physicals was supporting weight for any length of time. And she'd confidently assured him that strength and endurance would return with time and practice, as the damaged muscles repaired themselves and the pain faded.

“You're making good progress,” she assured him, finally, walking over to the table with her medical supplies and gesturing for him to join her. “Let's get some fresh bandages on you.”

Kane followed obediently, settling down in the hard, plain chair meant for patients. The King's personal healer, of course, had a more ornate chair: decorated with elaborate carvings and sporting a thick cushion. It was a visible token of the trust reposed in her, and she'd more than earned it. She was respected by grounders and Skaikru alike with good reason. Uncushioned or not, though, the patient chair was also comfortable. Spartan, yes, but it had good back support. Settling down into it, he laid one of his wrists on the table, unwrapping it and reaching for the little tub of medicine she'd had him rubbing into the wounds three or four times a day.

“Hang on,” she directed a few seconds after he'd started applying it, bringing a candle close to his arm and staring down at his injuries again.

He found himself squirming at the intensity of her gaze. She'd seen him naked in the past, of course, in her capacity as a doctor, but he wasn't sure he'd ever felt quite as _exposed_ as he did now. She was probing, assessing, judging. And, although he wasn't sure quite what had caught her attention after she'd already declared the wound's surrounding flesh healthy, it made him uneasy.

“How badly does it hurt when you rub the ointment in?” she asked finally, setting the candle down and staring up at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“I don't know,” he answered, frowning and shrugging. It hurt. Of course it hurt. A lot. But he'd been crucified, so pain seemed like a given. “Less than having nails pounded into my arms but more than, say, stubbing my toe?”

“You're pressing too hard. There's some tearing and irritation of the new tissue around the edges of the injuries. Here, let me show you how to do it,” she said, scooping up some of the cream on one finger and smoothing it lightly over the damaged area.

He swallowed hard, skin tingling and stomach giving a pleasant swoop that it had no right to as he watched. It didn't hurt the way his own ministrations always had. It actually felt _good_. As far as his body was concerned, it seemed more like a lover's caress than like being poked and prodded by a concerned physician. Before he could stop himself, his mind had formed visions of other caresses: more intimate and inexcusable between a doctor and her patient. Inhaling a little more sharply than he had intended, he ruthlessly pushed aside those visions and the accompanying desires.

But not fast enough, not judging by the way her hand stilled against his wrist. Glancing up, he was confronted with a startled, searching gaze, and he quickly looked away again, mind grasping wildly for anything he might be able to say or do to smooth this over.

“Here,” she whispered, voice thick. Lifting his arm, she gently rubbed the healing salve onto the other side of his wrist, dabbing a bit into each open wound before reaching for fresh linen cloths.

It was, perhaps, not surprising that she bandaged his arm without meeting his eye, or even speaking. There were times a man could let his imagination run wild and times when it was completely unacceptable. Being treated by a doctor was definitely one of the latter, even if that doctor had recently returned a fairly heated kiss from him. It had been an emotional moment; he’d barely been able to think straight under the weight of all his emotions. Everything had happened so fast: her half-spoken confession in the prison cell, the aching fear that he’d never see her again, his pride over her courageous decision to stay behind and help her people despite the danger...

Granted, they hadn't had much time alone since, but there'd been nothing, no indication that she wanted to repeat the kiss, or anything else, now that they were both alive and safe. Maybe she regretted it. Worse, maybe, after ALIE had forced her to kiss him, she couldn't even think of being close to him without remembering how she'd been abused, control, and manipulated. Maybe, after all that, the idea of physical intimacy with him could no longer bring her anything but shame and pain...

And here he was, fantasizing away like a horny kid.

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. “I'm sorry.”

“What?” she asked, looking up in surprised. Her hand had been reaching for his other arm and it stopped there, her fingers lightly lingering against the back of his hand as she studied his face. “Why are you sorry, Marcus?”

“I shouldn't have... I didn't mean to...” He trailed off, mentally kicking himself. It wasn't like him to get flustered and trip over his own words. Abby must think he'd finally lost it.

“Shh,” she directed, gently taking his hand in both of hers and lifting it, not to the table, but to her mouth. She planted a gentle kiss against his knuckles as she unwrapped his wrist, then another and another.

He could feel his breath coming faster, and there was an impulse to flee, but he suppressed that as ruthlessly as he'd suppressed his earlier imaginings. This wasn't some self-indulgent flight of fancy. This was real. This was her choice. There was no way he could mistake this for anything but her expressing a desire for him.

These kisses turned his mind to other kisses. Being kissed on the cheek by her while agonizing over his own guilt: the warmth and hope kindled by such an easy act of tenderness and affection from a woman he'd always admired, even when they were at odds. Kissing her in the corridor later: the way she'd melted against him and simply let him express his feelings in that unspoken way for a moment before wrapping her arms around him and reciprocating. Being kissed by her here, when she was under ALIE’s control: the way that his need for her had started to rise in him before he could even begin to assess the situation. The way it had felt to believe, even for a second, that she wanted him.

And now he _could_ believe, unconditionally. She worked slowly and tenderly on his arm, and there was no mistaking the promise that the intimacy wouldn't end with the examination. She was making her feelings clear, and her feelings were of a very inviting nature. The entire time she was applying the cream and bandaging his injury, she was peppering his fingers and palms with kisses. He was breathing faster, but he allowed himself to give in to his need, since she had already given in to her own.

This was Abby as she truly was, her affection as it was meant to be experienced. No one's death or well-being on the line, and no outside influence or coercion. Just Doctor Abigail Griffin and the object of her affections. She was exactly as she always was: tender, generous, soothing. But still forceful and decisive. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she was not hesitating to claim it.

He wasn't sure any man could resist such overtures even if he'd wanted to, so he simply let himself enjoy her care and her affection. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift, and it again moved back to the time she'd kissed his cheek and called it _hope_. He'd been scared to let himself believe then, even if he'd been quick enough to kiss her later, when he hadn't been sure he'd live to see her again. Now, though, his skin tingling from her gentle kisses, he was allowed to feel real hope. And to know that his hopes would soon be fulfilled.

“Abby,” he whispered, trying not to pant as he watched her apply a matching fresh bandage.

“It's all right, Marcus,” she promised. Staring down at his hands for a moment, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Then she smiled up at him: warm and welcoming. “It's all right,” she repeated, climbing to her feet and squeezing his hands. “Come on.”

Swallowing hard, he stood as well, staring down at her and wondering if he was supposed to make the next move. Before he could, though, she was leaning up to kiss him, slowly and without much passion, but with so much tenderness that he could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. She broke the kiss after a moment, holding his face in both hands and smiling warmly up at him as her fingers moved gently against his bearded cheeks.

He'd heard love compared to fire before, and not really known what to make of that until recently.

Growing up on a space station, fire had been the ultimate threat. It could take all the oxygen from a room in seconds, end the life of the reckless or unwary. It was a danger to anyone who let it come close.

On the ground it was different. Fire kept people warm and safe. Fire brightened the dark nights and showed the way home. He'd been cold and lost, with enemies on all sides. And now he was warm and safe. Because of this beautiful woman smiling up at him with so much affection and care.

“Abby,” he repeated, tightening his hold on her and pressing his face into her shoulder. “Oh, Abby...”

“It's okay, “she promised, kissing his hair and running her hands gently up and down his back. “We're safe now. Everything's going to be fine.”

There was so much he wanted to say in answer, so many thoughts crowding his brain in this moment that the only sound that emerged from his mouth was a strangled groan. Maybe he didn't need to put it into words, though. Her fingers tangled in his hair, firm against his scalp, and she made a quiet, comforting noise.

He smiled at that, and started to lift his head, but stopped abruptly as his eyes fell on one of the bruises on her throat. She'd been so busy, so energetic and nonchalant about her own suffering, that he'd almost let himself forget her share in the whole ordeal.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, lifting a hand and tracing the marks.

“Not any more,” she answered, tilting her head enough to allow his fingers more access. “They'll be gone before you know it. It could have been a lot worse.”

“I'm glad it wasn't,” he answered honestly, dropping his lips to one of the bruises.

She let out a little huff of air at that, hands tightening in his hair as he kissed every bruise and nuzzled every abrasion. Her injuries would heal faster than his, but he couldn't begin to imagine the scars they would leave. She loved Clarke, so much. Having been used as a weapon against her must have been heartbreaking. He didn't just _want_ to ease her hurt over that. He _had_ to. She deserved better than to live in so much pain. Pain was for people with blood on their hands, not for a passionate, dedicated healer like Abby. She was, perhaps, one of the only pure spirits left among them. He didn't want her to suffer for the crimes of others.

Pressed so close to her, his world contracted down to Abby and Abby alone, his love for her and her reactions to his attentions. The sound of her breathing, fast and shallow. The feel of her fingers tangled in his hair, kneading and tugging. Her pulse, fluttering under his lips. The clean, earthy smell of her skin. The subtle but undeniable scent of female arousal.

God, how long had it been since she'd let a man move her like this?

Breathless, achingly eager, he drew back, shaking fingers fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. Groaning and nodding, Abby watched him eagerly, eyes bright with desire. When it became obvious that his trembling fingers weren't entirely up to the task, she covered his hands with her own, guiding him one button at a time until the shirt hung loosely around her shoulders.

With her bra on, there still wasn't much to see that he hadn't before, but he moaned softly at the sight of her pale, flat stomach, eyes following all that milky skin until it vanished under the waistband of her pants. He hadn't realized before how tan she'd gotten, how tan they'd all gotten, during their time on the ground. He liked the tan on her, but he liked the untanned skin, too, especially the awareness that he'd probably be the only one seeing those particular areas any time soon. Which somehow conjured up very vivid images of her thighs: creamy, well-muscled, and quivering under his touch.

That last image broke something inside him. Panting, he pushed the shirt the rest of the way off, then fumbled with the button of her pants. Grasping something so tiny was a little painful, but he still managed to get the pants unbuttoned and unzipped in short order, even if he was shaking with something other than desire by the time he finished.

“Shh, it's okay,” she soothed, gently pushing his hands aside and sliding down her pants herself. At his frustrated sound, she took his hands in hers, lifting them to her bra. Together, they pulled it up and off. Her hands did almost all the work, but his fingers were still able to brush the sides of her breasts, her arms, her shoulders and throat...

Her bra fell to the floor and there she was, standing before him in nothing but her underwear. He took a step back, eyes trying to take in everything at once. Her breasts were of course magnificent: full and abundant, despite the faint stretch marks. Her small, hard nipples just begged to be licked and bitten. Her stomach was firm and flat, and again bore decades-old stretch mark: faded signs of a life lived to the fullest well before Marcus Kane ever came along to complicate it.

Everything about her was beautiful, but there was every possibility that her legs were her single most desirable thing he had seen in his life. Shapely, and athletic, they seemed impossibly long for such a short woman. He couldn't resist; he circled around to see those legs and everything associated with them from behind, and he was not disappointed. Her calves were well-developed and her hamstrings seemed impossibly muscular for a woman without a notably physical job. And her ass... Well, some things simply could not be described with words. 

Once or twice in his life, he'd been privileged to see the naked bodies of women who ran Circuits for fun, running from one station to another until every station and dozens of miles had been covered in mere hours. Abby's body was almost certainly superior to theirs, and it left him wondering what she did in the privacy of her quarters to have such perfect legs and such tight glutes. Her back was straight and perfectly in proportion, just like the rest of her body. Seeing her from a distance, anyone could have mistaken her for a woman who wasn't almost comically short.

He didn't care about her height, though. All he could bring himself to think about right now was how those amazingly strong legs would feel wrapped around his waist, or around his shoulders. Or around any part of his body she cared to grasp with them. Because, by the stars above, he would never have suspected such a body of hiding under Doctor Griffin's clothes. He'd fallen for her kindness and intelligence first, her passion and stubbornness afterwards, her gorgeous face somewhere along the way. The body he was seeing now... He'd have considered the sight of her a reward, had he done anything to deserve her in the first place.

Moaning, he pressed up against her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder. “Abby...”

She laughed softly and pressed back against him, turning her head to smile up at him. “Breathe, Marcus.”

He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until she spoke, but making himself exhale was a relief bordering on physical release. And how long had it been since physical release with a woman had involved deep affection and real desire? He wasn't inexperienced by any means but, with a few rare and infrequent exceptions, the women he'd bedded on the station had been ones he hadn't much cared for, let alone ones who had cared for him at all. Sex had always been a sort of transaction, mutually pleasurable in the moment but seldom intimate and even less frequently truly satisfying. It was an outlet, nothing more. Two people helping each other scratch an itch.

With Abby, it would be different. With Abby, holding and being held could only be a delight, could only bring peace and contentment. Pleasure, too, obviously, but also so much more than that.

Moaning softly and forcing himself to breath, he moved his lips from her shoulder to her throat, fingertips tracing the planes and angles of her stomach and sides until she was squirming and trying to urge them higher. Nodding, he obediently cupped her breasts, reveling in the warm weight of them for as long as his aching wrists allowed him to.

Abby moaned and pressed back more firmly against him, breathing, “Are you all right?” when he went from supporting her breasts to merely caressing them.

He let out a soft huff of air at that, smiling against her throat and grinding his erection against her ass a little. “What do you think, Doctor?” he challenged with a low chuckle.

“I think your wrists hurt,” she answered, breaking away and turning to face him with a worried expression.

“Good thing we have access to a natural painkiller,” he teased, stepping closer and reaching for her hands with a smile. “Abby...”

“I just worry,” she answered, her own smile warm, and so full of concern that it left a lump in his throat. Maybe she sensed his emotions because, abruptly, her expression shifted into something teasing. “Of course, the more you use your hands, the faster they'll regain strength.”

“I see. So, are you proposing regular... physical therapy, Doctor?”

“I think I am. Under careful medical supervision, of course,” she answered, grinning up at him until her nose crinkled and he had to resist the urge to playfully kiss it. “You're wearing too much,” she added, leaning up to kiss him briefly and then drawing back and tugging his shirt up and off. She dropped it, and her hands were on his chest before it even hit the floor. “I was expecting a _lot_ more hair...”

“ ** _What?”_ ** he demanded, laughing and staring down at her in confusion. He'd expected their first few times to be serious, for playfulness to come later, with more familiarity. But she was joking and teasing like they'd been lovers for years. And he adored it.

“Come on, Marcus,” she answered with a laugh of her own. “As fast as you grow hair on your face and head? I was expecting more… undergrowth.”

“Undergrowth?” he repeated, shaking a little with silent laughter. “Really, Abby?”

“Yeah. I thought I was going to need a machete to clear a path.”

“You are ridiculous,” he told her.

“Me?” she asked innocently, smirking up at him. “I'm still not entirely convinced I won't need one soon,” she added, hand sliding down his chest and cupping him through his pants.

He'd been about to speak, but all he managed was a shuddering gasp at the sensation of her fingers and palm pushing firmly against an arousal already aching with need, as it had been since she'd started kissing his wrist at the exam table. His pants were tight and his shorts already had an uncomfortable damp spot, which her touch only made worse. Chest heaving, he brought shaking hands to the button of his fly, and he wanted to scream with frustration when she made him unbutton and unzip himself when she could have done it in a quarter of the time.

_Note to self, Kane. Your new lover is a tease..._

God, though, he wasn't sure anything had ever afforded more physical satisfaction than he felt the moment he managed to push down his pants and shorts, freeing his erection. Flush with blood and already slippery, it twitched and strained eagerly in response to its newfound lack of confinement. Abby stared, her tongue darting out briefly to wet her lips, and he found himself wondering how that mouth would feel. Jake had never been one to brag, but it had been obvious that they shared an active and satisfying sex-life. Practice could only have made perfect. After more than two decades of marriage, she was presumably pretty good with her mouth, as with everything else.

Something in his expression must have telegraphed his thoughts, because she stepped closer as he kicked them away, resting her hands on his chest. Glancing down at his arousal, she wet her lips again. Slowly this time, with sensuality and... promise.

“Abby,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat.

“You sound like you're praying when you say my name that way,” she purred, staring up at him with dark eyes, Fingers teasing his nipples, she smirked and asked, “Is that what you're doing, Marcus? Praying for a blowjob?”

He shivered at that last word, at the sensual pout of her lips as they formed it, and the way she clearly savored it as it rolled off her tongue. She'd done it on purpose, obviously, had even managed to produce a barely-audible popping sound at the end. No one could say a word that way unless they were deliberately trying to draw attention to their tongue and lips. Well, she certainly had his attention!

“Sit down,” she ordered, gesturing to the bed. “You may bear the mark of the Grounder Alliance on your arm but, tonight, you belong to me.”

Chuckling in surprise, he obediently sat on the edge of the bed, smiling up at her and whispering, “How long have you wanted to lay claim to me?”

She made a thoughtful noise at that, kneeling at his feet and pushing his legs apart. “I don't have to lay claim to what I already possess.”

“And I've been yours for awhile now, haven't I? Longer than I've known,” he admitted, smiling warmly down at her and caressing her face. “Are you comfortable kneeling? There are other ways we could...”

Her answering smile was loving, and her fingertips danced up and down his thighs as she told him, “If I weren't comfortable with it, I wouldn't be doing it, Marcus. You know that.”

“Touche. Anything I can do for you while you're...”

“No, not yet. You're not one of those men who passes out after a single orgasm, are you?” she added, frowning up at him.

He swallowed hard at her question, so hard she must have heard the gulp. Her word-choice implied that she planned on him having at least two orgasms. The thought set his erection twitching urgently again, and leaking more than a little, which drew a low, throaty laugh from Abby.

“Mmm, someone's eager. I _like_ my men eager.”

“Then you must like me a lot,” he managed, trying not to squirm.

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, winking up at him.

She didn't begin right away, just stared at his twitching arousal, and there was something unspeakable hot about the almost predatory look she was giving it. He'd already produced plenty of moisture and, when he took in the look on her face, a large bead formed at his head, dripping to the floor only to be replaced by another, and then another. With any other woman, the sheer enthusiasm of his body's response would have been a little embarrassing. With Abby, it was entirely natural.

She continued to stare at what his body was doing, until he found himself half-begging, “Please.”

“Don't say please,” she directed, grinning up at him and wetting his lips again. “Say my name. Like you did before. Pray to me, Marcus Kane.”

“Abby,” he repeated, and this time it really _was_ a kind of prayer.

Her tongue darted out, lapping away a drop of fluid, and then the one that replaced it. The wet, warm, slightly rough friction of her tongue on the most sensitive portion of his anatomy set his whole body shaking with pleasure and need, and a whimper escaped before he could stifle it. Looking pleased with herself, Abby rested her hands on his knees and repeated those agonizingly slow passes of her tongue, over and over until he was shaking, his vision blurring white around the edges. By the time she drew back, smiling hungrily up at him, he was almost grateful for the momentary respite, and the accompanying chance to compose himself.

“Abby,” he repeated breathlessly. “God...”

“Just breathe, Marcus,” she soothed, reaching for one of his hands, kissing and nuzzling it. “Are you all right? Do you need a minute?”

“I'm so turned on it hurts,” he admitted, grinning breathlessly. “Not that I'm complaining!”

“Mmm, I'll bet you aren't,” she laughed, beaming up at him. “I'm going to make you come now. You want to come in my mouth, don't you?”

“But, then we won't be able to...”

“Trust me,” she soothed. “I know some men take awhile to recover between orgasms, but I don't care. We have time. Right now, I want to share this with you, all right? It's so intimate, Marcus.”

“It is,” he admitted, swallowing hard and tangling a hand in her hair. “Abby, please. Whatever you want, just… do _something_ .”

“I'll take care of you, Marcus,” she promised, wrapping her fingers around his arousal and giving him a few slow strokes.

He choked softly at that, eyes slamming shut, and not only from the physical sensations.

_Her hand was on his cock. Abby's long, deft fingers were wrapped around his twitching, slippery cock..._

He'd been with plenty of women in the past, in many ways, but he'd never felt anything quite like this before: not simple pleasure, but the awareness that this was going to be more than two people impersonally and a little greedily seeking release. This would be different: intimate, loving, and generous. Groaning, he tightened his hand in her hair, panting and nodding. He didn't say her name this time; he chanted it like a mantra. Gifting him with a delighted smile, she gave him what he needed, pursing her lips tightly and bringing them to his painfully flush tip.

Ever the good doctor, her care washed away all his discomfort. Keeping her lips tight, she slowly forced his head into his mouth, offering the sensation of opposition, but watching him with welcoming eyes. He'd always enjoyed oral sex in all its infinite variations: shy or shameless, skilled or clumsy, eager or charmingly reticent. But it had _never_ been quite like this. The combination of token resistance and overt invitation and encouragement was new, and utterly intoxicating. He could have come just from the look she was giving him, probably should have from the sensation of her tightly-compressed lips slowly engulfing him. But he refused to let himself go, not yet. It felt too good to be over quickly.

A man who had been controlling and restraining himself for decades, he managed to hold back, to stand close to the edge without letting himself topple over. And then she started to suck. With only his head in her mouth, she started giving quick, hard sucks in no pattern he could discern, no rhythm his body could acclimate to. He howled at that, despite his best efforts to stay quiet, and his hips bucked. Abby took that in stride, letting him bury himself deeper in her mouth. Fingers still wrapped firmly around his base, she stopped his progress before he could choke her. But her smile, moan, and the slight tightening of her fingers made it obvious that she loved his loss of self-control.

That was too much. He could have handled the delirious sensation, or the eager and inviting looks and sounds. But both at once, coupled with the realization that she was getting off on this, were just too much to bear. Sobbing, he fell back against the mattress, gripping the furs underneath him. She shifted on her knees as he changed position, keeping him in her mouth and making a happy noise. She released her hold on his erection then, one hand caressing his thigh and the other caressing his stomach. For a long moment, she simply held him in her mouth, until he began to wonder if she'd changed her mind about finishing him this way. Then, as he was beginning to recover sufficiently to be close to the ability to form words again, her head began to move.

Shifting position again, she leaned over him, one hand braced on the mattress as she bobbed her head up and down, her free hand squeezing and tugging his sac. His last coherent thought was that Jake Griffin had been a lucky bastard. After that, there was nothing but the warm, wonderful slide of her mouth around his aching length, over and over, and the noises they were making. His sobs and cries, her happy moans and little muffled encouragements, and the sound of wet flesh moving around wet flesh, over and over.

He could have died happy, full and throbbing inside her mouth. He wanted it to last forever. But his body was weaker than his spirit, and there was no resisting the amazing, beautiful things she was making him feel. With a shout that was half pleasure and half protest, he was suddenly emptying into her mouth, sobbing and jerking under her as it took him. She helped him ride it out, stilling but gently suckling and doing amazing, teasing things with her tongue as he crested each wave. She spun it out for a short eternity, until pleasure blurred into over-stimulation and threatened to become pain. He reached with shaking hands to push her away, but she was already drawing back, familiar with his limits after years of pushing them..

“Abby,” he panted, chest heaving and vision swimming. “God...”

“Shh,” she soothed, sliding up onto the mattress and snuggling down next to him, one hand coming to rest on his chest, close to his hammering heart. “Are you all right?”

“I... yeah,” he managed between shallow breaths, turning his head to stare at her surprisingly peaceful-looking face. “But you,” he added as his mind began to clear. “You must need...”

“I'm a woman. We're not as pathetic as guys,” she teased, smirking. 

“I think you're capable of being pretty ‘pathetic’ sometimes,” he countered with a breathless laugh. “I saw the look on your face...”

“It turned you on, didn't it?” she rasped, catching his earlobe between her teeth and giving it a rough nip before releasing it. “Knowing how bad I wanted you in my mouth? How much I enjoyed having you there?”

“It did,” he admitted, feeling ridiculously shy at the admission. “I loved how excited you were.” He left it at that. He could tell her he'd enjoyed her enthusiasm, but it felt too early to tell her how... _accepted_ he'd felt when she's taken him into her mouth, encouraged him to enjoy himself, and then drank down every drop of his pleasure.

“I love seeing you like that. It makes me almost feel powerful.”

He kissed her gently at that, ignoring a sticky smear of his semen on her face where their cheeks touched. It was slow and tender, and he loved the way their tastes mingled in her mouth. When he drew back, he whispered against her lips

“God, Abby, this is the first time in days that my wrists haven't hurt. You always take such good care of everyone, and I’m so grateful. I...” He hesitated, biting his lip hard and wondering if it was too soon to start really opening up.

“What, Marcus?” she urged gently.

“You helped my mental health as well as my physical state. Abby, I--”

“Marcus,” she interrupted gently, pressing a finger to his lips. “It's all right. You don't have to.”

“I know I don't. But, if I could... if you would allow me to say this. Just so you can understand, and then we can both forget I ever mentioned it...”

Clearing her throat, she leaned up, pressing her lips to her forehead and whispering, “Of course, if you really want to talk about it. I'll never make you stay silent when there's something you feel you need to say. You spent way too many years on the Ark holding back.”

“It's never been like this for me before,” he told her, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling her face. “Honest and affectionate and... likely to last beyond morning.”

“I know. I used to think that meant you didn't have a heart, that you couldn't love. But that's not it, not at all. It's because you love too hard. You were scared, weren't you, Marcus? Of letting yourself fall in love?”

“Of course I was. Loving someone, it makes you so vulnerable. It's terrifying, Abby.”

Pushing herself up on one elbow, she smiled curiously and gently asked, “Are you terrified now?”

“Yes,” he admitted, lifting her free hand and kissing it. “But I've been afraid my whole life, and I'm not sure any more that vulnerability is so awful. Maybe... maybe being stripped of all your defense and protections is a kind of freedom? I've never cared less about being in control, and I've never had someone like you, to listen and support me. It's liberating, Abby. Thank you. Thank you for freeing me.”

“Freedom feels good. I'm glad I could help you find it,” she said, kissing his cheek again. “Oh, Marcus...”

“Thank you, Abby,” he repeated again, nuzzling her face. “Thank you for everything. But... you must need something from me?”

He'd intended to make love to her, to bring her as much pleasure as she'd brought to him. Instead, he'd just lain by passively and let her pleasure him. Which felt wrong now. He was a bit relieved when she took his hand and guided it between her legs.

“Thank you,” he repeated, fingers stroking over her beautifully swollen folds.

He'd seldom seen a woman this turned on before he'd even touched her, and Abby must have been in this state for awhile now, judging by how wet and slippery she was. Earlier, she'd displayed a level of restraint even he could admire, focusing entirely on him and ignoring her own needs. Now, though, she was squirming and panting, her expression desperate. And inviting. So very inviting.

Moaning softly, he kissed her, nuzzling her face as his fingers explored her warmth. “God, you need this more than I did, don't you?”

“Mmm, yes. Please, Marcus,” she whispered against his lips, clinging to him and breathing hard. “Touch me.”

Smiling warmly against her lips, he murmured, “I can do better than just touching. After all, I owe you one...”

Her breath caught, and she stared up at him with wide eyes, expression eager and almost shy. “Is that something you enjoy?”

“I think I enjoy most things when you're involved.”

“I'll have to remember that,” she answered with an evil glint in her eye, tangling a hand in his hair. “Mmm, I love your hair. So thick and soft...”

He smirked at that, smile widening as she gave his head a gentle downward push. He let himself be urged lower, but only at his own pace. Pink with arousal and need, and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, her body was too alluring to be passed by quickly, even with the prize he knew was waiting for him. He didn't tease, but he gave himself a few moments to enjoy and explore. A kiss to her jaw, one to her chin, a slow taste of the salty skin over the fluttering pulse on her throat. Then he worked his way lower: a kiss to the outer curve of each breast, a quick teasing flick of his tongue across one tight nipple. That drew a gasp from her and her hand tightened in his hair.

_“Marcus! Yes...”_

Making a happy noise, he drew her nipple between his lips, gently sucking and biting the tender flesh. Her shuddering groans and the way she arched up against his mouth were almost enough to make him hard again. He could have gone on like that forever, except she so obviously needed more and, despite their past differences, he'd never been good at saying no to Abby Griffin, not on a personal level. Mumbling encouragement, he sucked and bit harder, staring hungrily up at her face as his hands slid up and down her sides.

She whimpered and squirmed, chest heaving under him. After a moment, she managed a shaky, “That's not where I need your hands right now, Marcus.”

His name, from her lips in that tone...

Nothing broke inside of him; he very seldom allowed anything to, and never in front of witnesses if he could help it. But a gear shifted. Somewhere deep inside, in a place he seldom let himself acknowledged, a spark caught and turned to flame, not dangerously hot, but so beautiful: healing and warm. She had taken care of him so often and in so many ways, even when he hadn't deserved half the consideration she'd actually granted him. He was past due to take care of her, too.

“I can give you more than my hands,” he promised, lips abandoning her breasts as he slid lower down her body.

“Mmm, Marcus,” she breathed, nodding and spreading her legs. “Please.”

“Now there's a word you don't hear from Abby Griffin often,” he chuckled, shifting position to lay between her legs. Kissing her stomach, he told her, “A man could get used to it.”

“You'll have a chance to,” she promised in a throaty voice, tangling her hands in his hair. Urging his head lower, she repeated, “Please, Marcus...”

She was so ready for him, her clit twitching and her folds swollen and slick with pleasure and need. He took a long taste, dragging his tongue slowly up and down her heat. She tasted almost sweet, but it was her shuddering groan that left him needing more. He squirmed his hands under her, squeezing her glutes and trying to pull her closer to his mouth.

A bad move from a man who had only recently been crucified...

Hissing and grimacing, he dropped her again, pulling his hands out from under her and panting softly from the unexpected pain.

“Marcus!” Abby protested, quickly sitting up and reaching for his hands. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” he assured her, shaking his head and smiling wryly. “I just forgot myself for a minute.”

“You didn't tear your stitches, did you?” she asked, gently peeling back his bandages to check his wrists.

“I'm fine,” he promised, letting her satisfy herself, then urging her onto her back again. “But you're not. You have to be desperate.”

“A little,” she admitted, biting her lip and refusing to lie back. “You can't still be in the mood after that?”

“I have Doctor Abby Griffin: naked in bed, in candlelight, and very turned on. Do you really think there's any _other_ mood I could be in right now?” he challenged, leering down at her.

Wetting her lips, she reclined, spreading her legs and ordering, “Then back to work, Ambassador Kane.”

“Yes, Heda!” He laughed as she trembled in response, sliding down between her legs again.

He was careful this time not to bear any weight on his hands, but he urged one of her legs over her shoulder, caressing her thigh. Moaning, she obediently hooked her leg up, but almost immediately lapsed into giggles, her whole body quaking with laughter.

If another woman had laughed that hard at a moment like this, it might have made him self-conscious, but this was _Abby_. Frowning in bemusement, he shifted position, resting his chin on her stomach and watching her curiously. “What?”

“Your beard tickles!”

“Well, get used to it, because I plan on spending a lot of time down here in the future.”

“Such an intimidating threat,” she 'mocked,' giving his head a playful shove downwards.

Chuckling, he obediently slid lower again, once more pulling her leg over his shoulder and deliberately rubbing his bearded cheek against her thigh. Giggling and squirming, she thumped the top of his head and wrapped her other leg around him as well, using them to tug his face closer. Grinning at her enthusiasm, he obediently resumed, tongue sliding roughly up and down her flush folds, but never quite making contact with her clit. Not yet.

She was a wonderfully responsive woman, groaning and squirming as her fingers kneaded restlessly at his scalp. There was something intoxicating about the growing taste and smell of her arousal, and he took his time teasing her slowly higher. When her gasps turned to little whines, he finally attacked the spot he'd been purposely neglecting for so long. Her clit was twitching urgently by then, and she let out a shout as he gave it a hard suck, bucking a little under him and pulling desperately at his hair.

“Marcus!”

Nodding eagerly, he sucked and licked, reveling in her cries, and the increasing scent and taste of her pleasure. It hadn't happened in years, but he could feel his body reacting, growing excited again despite his recent orgasm. God, though, it was understandable with _Abby_ squirming around and sounding like a woman who hadn't been properly taken care of in far too long. He had no idea what he'd done to earn the privilege of being the one to finally give her what she had so obviously been needing, but now was not the time to reflect. Gripping her hips weakly, he let his tongue move hard and fast for her, occasionally sucking her clit or worrying it with his teeth, doing his best to keep her body off-balance.

When she finally came for him, her cry was loud enough that he fleetingly wondered if she was trying to let the whole tower know what they were up to. The thought was oddly appealing, and he smiled against her wet, heated skin as he helped her ride it out. She was so turned on, squirming and gasping and tossing her head like an overexcited animal as she tugged at his hair and spasmed gently under him. Finally, with a moan that was almost a whimper, she pushed his head gently away, and he chuckled when he saw several long black strands still clutched between her trembling fingers. She'd been so excited and so lost in pleasure that she'd actually pulled out some of his hair. _God._

“Still with me, Abby?” he teased, grinning up at her and wetting his lips.

“No. I think you killed me,” she moaned, chest heaving appealingly.

He couldn't resist the sight. He had to slide up her body and take one of those hard, perfect nipples in his mouth.

“Damn you, Kane,” she panted, laughing breathlessly. “You still love torturing me, don't you?”

“I do. But no shock batons this time, unless you're into that kind of thing,” he promised, sliding up her body and nuzzling her face.

Abby laughed harder at that, shoving his head away. “Your beard is _soaked_!”

He laughed, too, teasing, “And whose fault is that?”

“Don't you dare blame me!” she giggled, giving him an affectionate swat. “You brought it on yourself!”

It had been so long since he laughed with a lover that he couldn't help himself. Laughing harder, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly, losing himself in the feel of her heated, sweaty skin against his, and in the smell of her pleasure and sound of her mirth.

“Abby,” he whispered, resting his forehead against her shoulder and simply savoring how it felt to be close to her like this.

It was so new, after years of being at odds. In just a few months, they'd gone from bitter rivals to allies, then from allies to friends, and now from friends to lovers. He never wanted to let this go, never wanted to let _her_ go. Perhaps sensing his feelings, Abby sighed softly and wrapped her arms around him. He could feel her muscles shaking, but her embrace remained firm.

They lay comfortably still for several minutes, the silence only broken by their breathing, hers gradually slowing as she came back down.

“Marcus?” she finally whispered, smiling up at him.

“Abby?” he answered, kissing her throat.

“Mmm, how can I phrase this?”

“Phrase what?”

“I can't help but notice...”

She shifted position then, leg nudging him and making him jump with a combination of pleasure and surprise. When had he gotten that aroused again? He'd been so wrapped up in her pleasure, and then in the pleasure of being close to her, that he hadn't even noticed the extent of his erection until it was brought to his attention. Chuckling, he rested his forehead against hers, beaming.

“It's been years since that happened again so soon.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Grinning, she half-sat, shoving him onto his back and moving to straddle him. “I was afraid I was going to have to wait until morning for this,” she told him, wetting her lips and wrapping her fingers around his straining arousal. “Not bad stamina for an old man.”

“I'm not that much older than you, and you're not exactly over the hill!” he laughed, tickling her ribs.

Abby gave a shriek of laughter at that, wobbling on top of him and batting his hand away. “Stop that!” she wheezed, and he delightedly filed away how ticklish she was for future use. “You're a bad man, Marcus Kane!”

“Yes, I _am_. Never doubt that, Abigail Griffin. You've fallen into the worst possible hands.”

“Does that make my hands the _best_ possible?” Smirking, she gave him a firm stroke, and then another.

Moaning, he closed his eyes, letting himself focus on nothing but the feel of her deft hand, moving slowly up and down his hard, slippery flesh. His body hardly needed the encouragement, but he wasn't complaining. In his experience, handjobs weren't always an intimate act, not even usually. But there was no denying how _close_ it proved them to be, suddenly having Abigail Griffin's long, healing fingers moving for him like this. She wouldn't do this for just anyone. Nor would he usually let himself be open enough to quietly weep with pleasure and relief as she carried him higher.

Because this was Abby. Abby, who hadn't done this with a man other than her own husband in over two decades. Abby, who had now chosen to welcome him into that select club. Abby, who he'd cared about for far longer than was remotely appropriate. Abby, the woman he loved. Abby, the woman he was pretty sure loved him in return.

He could have enjoyed her touch all night, but she obviously needed more. Shifting on top of him, she sank onto him in one swift motion, hissing a little, then moaning as he felt her clenching, rippling muscles adjusting to his intrusion.

“Marcus,” she breathed and, this time, she was the one who sounded like she was praying.

Kane opened his eyes, needing to see her, and she was every bit as beautiful as a woman like her should be in a moment like this. If there were tears streaming down her face, that was only to be expected. It wouldn't always be that way, and she looked so happy he doubted she was even aware she was weeping, too. Under other circumstances, he might have wiped away her tears. As it was, he didn't want to draw her attention to them. It could be dealt with later.

Resting his hands on her hips and letting out a happy groan, he simply enjoyed her slow rise and fall, against him and around him. They fit each other perfectly; she was snug, but not so tight that it could have been uncomfortable for her, despite how long it had been since she’d taken a lover. She rocked easily, body clinging to him without offering the least resistance. He'd never felt so completely connected to another human being before. Which made sense when he'd never had sex with anyone he cared about as much as her.

Abby moved unhurriedly over him for a short eternity, head falling back and breathy sighs escaping her again and again. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a woman displaying such... contentment at a moment like this, and there was something beyond gratifying in being the one to share this with her. He loved it, loved her, and felt so privileged to be a part of her pleasure. Part of him wanted to touch her, to carry her higher, but he wouldn't have done anything to end this obviously peaceful moment for her, not after everything she'd been through recently.

Of course, even something so beautiful couldn't last forever. Eventually, she gave a soft gasp and her eyelids fluttered. Clenching him tightly, she leaned down, resting his hands against his shoulders and rocking faster. Jake's wedding band hung between them, brushing his chest every time she moved, but he doubted she was even aware of it right now, and he couldn't have cared less about the warm metal. After all, it was just one more facet of who Abby was.

“Marcus...”

It was half affirmation and half plea, the way she spoke his name, and it had been a long time since he'd been able to resist a plea from her. Forgetting his injuries, he flipped her onto her back, coming down on top of her. The pain in his wrists nearly took him out of the moment, but he quickly shifted his weight onto his elbows and forearms instead, unwilling to relinquish the experience of hovering over Abby in a moment of shared passion. Not when it felt so damned _good_. Her little moan and the hungry look in her eyes as she stared up at him instantly washed away the last vestiges of pain. Nothing could matter except the love and desire in her eyes as she looked up at him.

But, it was Abby, and her healing instinct always took precedence. “Marcus, your wrists!” she protested breathlessly as she took in their new position, her expression shifting from need to genuine worry. 

“Shh, they're fine,” he panted, voice catching and rasping in his throat. “I'm not using them.”

A moan escaped her and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Are you sure you're strong enough?” she whispered, staring up at him with a conflicted expression that he couldn't do anything but kiss away.

For just a moment, she didn't quite match his passion, then she melted under him, arms closing around his neck and one leg looping around his waist. Mumbling against his lips, she deepened the kiss, her chest heaving under his and her hold on him tightening.

“Please,” she whispered between hungry kisses. “Marcus, _please_.”

Reaching between them, he slowly pushed back into her, shuddering at how wonderful it felt to be welcomed into her like this, so completely accepted into her being. She'd looked like she'd been enjoying herself before, but there was something new in her eyes now, something akin to bliss. Head falling back, she nodded and moaned, wetting her lips again.

“Yes, Marcus. God.”

“Mmm, you like that?” he chuckled, nuzzling her face and feeling vaguely euphoric.

It was such an intimate position, and not one he'd often allowed himself with other lovers. In general, eye-contact had been something he'd done his best to avoid, too personal to be safe. He definitely wasn't safe now, staring down at her, her staring up at him. He was drunk on the look in her eyes, intoxicated by it. Addicted to it.

“So good,” she breathed, panting and smiling foggily up at him. “So surrounded by you...”

“I love it,” he groaned, kissing her tenderly for a moment before letting his hips begin to move.

It was a little awkward, resting his weight on his forearms like this. He’d no doubt end up with a sore back and shoulders, but it would be worth every second. Being with Abby like this, surrounding her and being surrounded by her, seeing the love and pleasure in her face; he felt momentarily overwhelmed. But he shook that off, putting his decades of rigid self-discipline to use to keep the inevitable at bay. He was an old-fashioned man; he liked to take care of his partner before he saw to his own needs.

Her shuddering little moans spurred him on, and he found himself moving over her with more speed and force than he'd meant to. Not that Abby seemed to mind in the least. Crying out and clinging to him, she squeezed her eyes shut, rocking urgently against him and panting hard into his shoulder. Choking out his name over and over, she matched every move he made, as naturally and as flawlessly as if they'd been doing this together for years.

She gasped abruptly, body tensing and trembling, her hands tightening against his shoulders. “Marcus! Oh! _Oh, Marcus..._ ” She opened her mouth again, but only a series of moans escaped: breathy near-whines somewhere between satisfied, needy, and relieved.

Hearing her like that would have been enough to make him come even if her clenching, fluttering walls hadn't been milking his aching erection for all it was worth. Kissing her hungrily and rocking as hard as he could manage, he finally gave in to his own build.

“Abby. God!”

“Yes, Marcus,” she groaned in encouragement, voice thick and heavy in the aftermath of her orgasm. “Come for me, baby...”

He'd always enjoyed his orgasms: that surging sweep of release, the passion and intensity and sheer _freedom_ of the moment. On the Ark, it had been the only time he'd really been able to let his guard down in front of another human being. Here in Polis, in Abby's bed, the experience was beyond any of that. Here with Abby, braced over her and spilling a part of himself into her, there was no need for pretense or restraint. This was what it felt like to truly share himself with another. He sobbed with love and relief, with elation and exhaustion, with guilt over their contentious past and hope for their united future. With anyone else, he would have been ashamed over such a display but, with Abby, if was the most right and natural thing in the world. She must have understood from the way she urged his face down against her shoulder and murmured soothingly as it washed over him.

Far too soon, he collapsed against her, spent and drifting on a wave of languid contentment. Abby moaned softly, panting quietly under him and moving her hands aimlessly across his back. They lay like that for several minutes, the only sound that of their breathing at is gradually slowed and evened out.

Finally, Abby let out another moan, whispering, “Marcus?”

“Yes. Abby?”

“That was amazing, but you're _heavy_.”

Gasping and mumbling an apology, he quickly rolled off of her, pushing himself up on one elbow and staring down at her. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, she soothed, urging him onto his back and snuggling down against his chest. “It felt good, I was just having a little trouble breathing.”

“So was I, for a minute,” he chuckled, leaning to kiss and nuzzle her cheek.

“You were beautiful, Marcus.”

“So were you. But you always are.”

“Why didn't we do this months ago?”

“You hated me months ago. I wasn't too crazy about you, either.”

“We've come a long way. You've changed. We both have,” she told him, smiling warmly up at him.

“It's going to sound silly, but you helped inspire me to want to be a better man than I was on the Ark.”

“That doesn't sound silly, Marcus,” she assured him. “Not at all. I'm glad you've finally gotten a chance to be the man you were always meant to be.”

“So am I. Thank you for standing by me while I've found my footing.”

“It was worth it. It's been wonderful to be a part of,” she whispered, leaning up and kissing him tenderly.

It was too soon to say it out loud, but he let his love for her show in his kiss, slow and tender and deeply affectionate. Her pleased little hum as they kissed made him wish he had the energy for another round, but he was tired, and sore, and Abby looked pleasantly exhausted herself. They had time, all the time in the world, and not just to act like horny teenagers. Time to get to know each other in this new way, time to love and fight and spend quiet evenings in each other's arms, time for private jokes and unspoken sympathies. Time for all the things he'd never thought he'd have in life, certainly not with Abby Griffin.

“I don't think I've ever seen you looking as happy as you look right now,” she whispered, smiling warmly up at him and stroking his cheek.

“It's been a long time,” he admitted, turning his head and kissing her fingers. “Thank you.”

“Only you would say that at a time like this,” she giggled, nose wrinkling adorably again. “Marcus...”

“Get some rest, Abby?”

“Wake me up soon?”  
  
“Oh, with pleasure."  
  
“That's the general idea. I probably should have warned you before things went this far, but I'm a _very_ hard woman to satisfy.”  
  
“Remind me to take advantage of that fact.”  
  
“Oh, I won't have to. I'll be too busy taking advantage of you to leave you any time to take advantage of me,” she teased, grinning and closing her eyes.  
  
He laughed softly, pressing his nose into her hair. He was in trouble now, having taken a woman as feisty and energetic as Abby as a lover but, sore or not, he couldn't bring himself to regret that fact. Not one bit.  
  
**The End**


End file.
